Page 18 of Once Marked
“A local fisherman found her here,” Beeler said, “two mornings before Billie Shearer’s body was discovered.It was his favorite fishing spot, although he didn’t come out here on any regular schedule.”
As Riley circled the chair, but it offered no clues.Like the other one, it was well-used, but they weren’t a match in design or color.The chairs were both nondescript, the type one might overlook at a garage sale or find abandoned at a beach house rental.There were no unique markings, no manufacturer’s tags left intact, nothing that could tie it to a specific place or person.Like the chair at the other crime scene, this one was worn down by time and elements, making its origins virtually untraceable.
She ran her fingers along the armrest, feeling the rough texture, picturing the killer doing the same after setting the stage for this display.A nagging thought tugged at the edge of her consciousness, a realization that in spite of the mismatches, these chairs must have been chosen for a reason.
She pulled out her phone and studied the photos of Julie Sternan, captured at the moment she had been discovered.The scene was unsettling: Julie lay there, clad in a striking turquoise one-piece swimsuit adorned with bold, geometric patterns that clashed vividly with the natural surroundings.And it had already been established that neither body had been dressed in a swimsuit that belonged to them.Each crime scene had been meticulously staged, and the victims dressed with care to indicate a different period in time.
Sheriff Beeler’s voice broke through her concentration.“Anything?”he asked.
“Just thinking about the staging,” Riley muttered as she gazed at the scene.It was evident that this was far more than a mere act of a killer disposing of bodies; each setting was a statement, a carefully orchestrated performance.
But what drove this killer to such lengths?What was the obsession with swimsuits from different eras?The vibrant colors and textures contrasted starkly against the lifeless bodies.Changing clothes on a deceased victim was no trivial task.It required a significant amount of effort and precision, especially since it had to be done immediately after death, before the onset of rigor mortis rendered it impossible.
Riley glanced at Ann Marie, giving her a subtle nod—an unspoken invitation to dive into the analytical depths.She saw the potential in the younger agent, the eagerness to dissect the macabre puzzle before them.She must be allowed every opportunity to hone her skills.
Following a different train of thought, Ann Marie asked the Sheriff, “Julie Sternan went missing from Sandhaven, near her home, correct?”
Beeler nodded, his face etched with the weight of responsibility.“That’s right.Her husband reported her missing when she didn’t return from her swim.”
“Swimming alone, then taken...her body ends up here, miles away,” Ann Marie continued, each word marked by a thoughtful pause.“So, the question is why?Why bring her all the way out here?”
“Exactly,” Beeler agreed, his voice a blend of appreciation and concern.“It doesn’t make any sense.We’re hoping you folks can shed some light on that.”
“Billie Shearer’s body was found far from where she was last seen, too,” Ann Marie continued, thinking out loud.“Moving bodies of victims is the mark of a particular kind of killer.When it’s not a matter of hiding what has happened, it’s usually because the killer has a specific plan in mind.Sometimes that’s to create a particular setting—as in this case.But in spite of the exact staging, there’s no pattern in the places the women were taken or in the distances or directions they were moved.”
Riley nodded slowly, watching as Ann Marie’s blue eyes scanning the crime scene with precision.She wanted to encourage the way Ann Marie pieced bits of information together; it reminded Riley of her own process.
“Anything else you’re seeing?”Sheriff Beeler asked, his voice hopeful.
“Could that apparent randomness of location be deliberate?”Ann Marie considered.“A tactic to throw us off, make it harder to track them down.”
Riley silently agreed, allowing Ann Marie’s analysis to fill the space.It was sound thinking.Sometimes serial killers made randomness part of their M.O.
“Whoever did this...”Ann Marie trailed off, her brows knitting together once more.“If they’re being deliberately unpredictable, then we’re dealing with someone who understands how investigations work.They know we look for patterns, so they’re trying not to leave any that might lead to their own location.”
“They could be being careful about that,” Riley agreed, her thoughts aligning with Ann Marie’s.“But everyone makes mistakes.”
“Right,” Ann Marie responded.“But meanwhile, we have to pay attention to the things that are consistent —the timing, for example.We’ve had two victims spaced two days apart.If that’s a pattern that holds, the killer’s time frame suggests they’re preparing for their next move right now.”Her blue eyes darkened with concern.“Could be selecting someone even as we speak,” she added.“And we have no way to guess where that might take place or where another body might turn up.”
“The Outer Banks is a big place,” Beeler put in gruffly, “a set of barrier islands about 200 miles long.”
Riley felt the statement settle in her bones, heavy and inevitable.Ann Marie was right, the killer’s clock was ticking away, and they had no idea where to look.
“Beeler,” she said, glancing at the sheriff’s stoic profile, “could you give us a minute?”Her request was met with a nod, as Beeler understood the need for agents to hash things out amongst themselves.
As Beeler stepped out, the fabric walls of the tent fluttered with his departure, leaving Riley and Ann Marie enclosed in a cocoon of urgency and speculation.
“Ann Marie,” Riley began, her voice low, “we’re missing something.There’s something here we haven’t seen yet.”
She turned away, pacing the confined space, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath her shoes.Her mind raced through the details of the crime scene, the seemingly deliberate randomness, the calculated distances.There was something there, a piece of this macabre puzzle that evaded her grasp.But it was close, she could feel it lurking in the shadows of her subconscious.
Riley took a deep breath as it came to her.“I think the killer is a woman.”But her voice, typically steady and commanding, carried an unusual undertone of uncertainty.
“What makes you say that?”Ann Marie asked, her brows arching high on her forehead.
Riley hesitated, her gaze drifting to the weathered beach chair that sat at the center of the tent, its very ordinariness stark against the tapestry of death.“I can’t explain exactly why,” she admitted, feeling her intuition pressing against the walls of logic.“It has something to do with the feeling with which these scenes were staged.There’s a note of...almost nostalgia to it.Something … well, feminine, I guess.”
The two of them fell silent for a moment.
